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A Sigehold Wedding
by Veikko The day Thandral and Roana were to be married, we took to the field. We were fighting the terrible forces of the Jotun in Mournwold, taking from them a bleak fortress that they had built within the sweeping countryside of Marcher territory. I carried with me the Standard of the Woven Rings, attached to witness General "Axehind” Aedric Dunning as he breached the fort’s walls and lead us to a hard-earned victory. We were none of us clean coming off that battlefield, covered in the blood of enemies and allies both, but Wintermark’s numbers held strong. But let me tell you an interesting thing about being a bannerman. I found this out the first time that I took the field with the Standard: the banner is, for the archers of the enemy, a target. And while arrows will rip through its fabric and thud into the banner’s haft, that does not constitute a victory in the eyes of your typical archer. What does is the banner falling, and what you can guarantee is that, should the banner falter, more arrows will follow the flight of the one that hit, in order to try and fell the bannerman and strike at our morale. Since that first incident, I had my armour bolstered by an artisan. No longer would a strike to the calf bring me to my knees! And so when the first arrow thudded into the back of my neck, the leather and chain held strong, the arrow’s point cutting deep but not puncturing anything vital. But I did what many a foolish man has done before me. I turned around, to see where the blow had come from. And for my curiosity, I took a second arrow to the front of my neck. The leather, hardened by the oil and hard work of our artisans, reinforced by ambergelt and green iron, held against the impact of the blow! The craftsmanship of the Wardensweave Scale is absolutely not in question. But so sturdy was it that this arrow did not even penetrate my gorget. Instead it was deflected right into my face. I first noticed my jaw was dislocated when I turned to my thane and tried to say ‘has everyone made it out alive?’ and, instead, gargled two syllables before the pain lanced through my skull as if I had been stricken by some agonizing spell. I remember nearly falling off my feet by the pain of it all, and when I next really came too I was being pinned down by three healers in the Anvil Hospital. One held me down by the shoulders, one held the top of my head still, and one pushed my jaw back into place. When it was relocated, the snapping sound and the flash of pain made me think she had pushed too hard and taken the whole thing off! But no, I was in one piece. I walked back to our camp, sat down and spent a long while drinking cold cider and saying very little. Apparently I must be quite talkative when I am in full health, for numerous people who did not know that I was recovering from a dislocated jaw seemed concerned by my silence. Liissá even gave me a backrub free of charge, to try and take down the swelling. Any priest can tell you that one of the best ways to be free of pain is Liao. The imbibing of Liao is quite elevating and stimulating, and I knew that once the ceremony had begun and I had taken my first dose to better see the auras of those I was entwining in matrimony, the dull ache of my jaw would not be a concern. So I waited, and drank a little more, and I was sure I was forgetting something… but no matter! It could not have been important, lest I would not have forgotten it. And so the time came, and so there they stood, the Changeling bride and groom, who had been in fierce battle, snarling and spattered with blood, now cleaned and bedecked with flowers and wedding finery. Sigehold sat in a circle to witness the ceremony beneath the baking sun of Anvil. So the ceremony began, as I have done many a time before. Bidding them to join hands, I began: ‘we are here in a ceremony that will see Thandral and Roana pledge themselves virtuously to each other, so that they might strive to accommodate each other’s ambitions, to be a beacon for each other’s courage, to embody the loyalty that they have in one another, to take pride in each other’s being, to guide each other to prosperity and stand together vigilantly, and be the means in which they can inspire each other to wisdom.’ Both of them agreed. So far, so good. ‘Know now before you go any further that as you enter this state of matrimony you will braid together your skeins. With full awareness, know that within this circle you are not only declaring your intent to be married before your friends and family, but also before the Eternals and higher powers that might have taken an interest in you.’ An ominous passage, but a necessary one. And still no complaints! I took two doses of Liao, because I was terribly saw of mouth from so much talking, and because I needed to grace both of their auras for the anointing I was ceremoniously placing upon them. I had a third dose, as whilst Thandral had earned the Scop name ‘Proudhart’ but had always avoided having it marked upon his soul. Since I had him trapped at a wedding ceremony, why not make that formal and permeating here and now? That was done, to no complaints, and so it came time for groom and bride to slice open their palms and clasp their hands together in a symbolic gesture of their skeins being entwined and their bloodlines uniting. Which was when I realised I didn’t have a ceremonial knife on me. Nor any blade at all. I had shed myself of armour and armaments when I had struggled back to camp, and in my time dulling the pain (as I was advised to do by a Grimnir) I had not remembered to reequip myself with a blade for the ceremony. So it came to pass that I said ‘I now ask you to slice open your hands’ and reach down to an empty scabbard. What a folly! What an embarrassment! And there I stood, swaying with near misbalance after imbibing three very necessary dosages of Liao, with no knife to accost my bride and groom with. Then came the sound of steel striking dirt, as the first knife was thrown from our circle of onlookers and well-wisher’s. And then a second, as one a little too late tossed their knife to the feet of the bride and groom. A third onlooker, thinking this was a cue to follow, threw their own blade into the ring. Our Thane, not to be outdone by three of her hall, threw in her own boot knife. Then came a hand-axe, and then a broadsword, and by the end of it bride, groom and officiate were stood with the surprisingly numerous arms of Sigehold tossed to our feet! Bride and Groom selected a blade, committed to each other in blood, and bound by marriage I bid them kiss and be merry. I understand that some wedding ceremonies have bundles of flowers thrown to the crowd as an omen of good fortune. I understand that some wedding ceremonies do not end with piles of recently-bloodied weaponry at the feet of the bride and groom. But something struck me as poignant in the display. Suddenly, at the beginning of their life as husband and wife, their hall stood around them free of weapons. Every available blade (and one cudgel, if I remember correctly) had been disarmed and left at their feet, in what was accidentally a display of trust in the wedded couple, but also that they stood armed and ready around them to defend the ceremony from whatever imaginary foes might try and interrupt it. And so it is now a part of each wedding I officiate, that those who attend come as armed as they would whilst travelling through unfamiliar territory, as on the onset of the ceremony it surely is all unfamiliar. But then, come the blood oath and the entwining of their skeins together, those who attend disarm themselves in a display of safety and trust, granting the newlywed couple the courage they need to enter in a state of matrimony and never be alone again. Good fortune is on the owner of whichever blade they choose to mark this occasion with, as they theirs is the blade that has strengthened two lives, as potent a symbol of Loyalty as the Standard that I was carrying the day I had my jaw dislocated and forgot to bring my own knife. So if you come to a Wintermark wedding and see the arms of those attended hurled towards those who are being wed, fear not! For they are not attempting to assassinate the bride and groom; rather, a happy tradition has been born of a silly mistake, but one that I take great Pride in.